


the simplest answer in the world

by mollivanders



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-06
Updated: 2011-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/pseuds/mollivanders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charity’s fault has always been having too much faith in her fellows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the simplest answer in the world

**Author's Note:**

> **Title: the simplest answer in the world**  
>  Fandom: Harry Potter  
> Rating: PG-13 for implied violence  
> Characters: Charity Burbage, Albus Dumbledore  
> Author's Note: For laeria who requested [_Charity Burbage, "What is a rebel? A man who says no." - Camus_](http://stainofmylove.livejournal.com/95505.html?thread=1459985#t1459985) Word Count - 646. Spoilers for Book 7.  
>  Disclaimer: I own nothing.

She doesn’t think about it often – just does her best to teach her students the differences between them and Muggles are not all that difficult. When they get older, she draws the occasional parallel between the Nazis in Germany and the policies promoted by purists, but she does not push the subject.

Charity’s fault has always been having too much faith in her fellows.

It’s a cold spring day when Dumbledore calls her up to his office and for a moment he just sits behind his desk, staring at Charity across his linked hands before gesturing for her to sit.

“I think you should be aware,” said Dumbledore. “There may be a time when I no can no longer protect this school and those in it.”

Her ears fill with a strange buzzing and she cannot look away from the headmaster’s withered arm. There have been whispers among the teachers (and students too) of what happened to Dumbledore, though those were far surpassed by rumors of what was happening outside the school.

Only last week she’d comforted Sarah Green, a poor girl whose Muggle-born mother had been found dead in their home, her father spared only through the grace of working late at the office.

“I beg to differ, headmaster,” Charity says, her voice stronger than most people expected. “I think the past few years have shown this school will always be under your protection.”

Dumbledore smiled benignly across the desk at her before responding. “All the same, Charity, I urge you to be cautious.”

The weeks fly by and Charity understands Dumbledore’s meaning all too well – the sick feeling in her stomach spreading day by day as she hears of more Ministry practices discriminating against Muggle-borns and wizards and witches who, despite their obvious magical background, were being targeted for allegedly committing Mudblood Crimes.

It was an actual _thing_ now, Charity thought with contempt. _Mudblood Crimes_.

But it was summer and her students were out of reach, so Charity did the only thing she was trained to do – knew how to do – could do in the situation.

She wrote a column.

It was a simple thing to do, really. Pull the parchment across her desk, dip her quill in ink and let her hand scrawl a diatribe against those who, if anybody did a little digging, were surely not all that distantly related to Muggles themselves. It was necessary to recognize this, she pointed out, her hand steady and sure with honest anger, because a closed society could not survive. It needed fresh air and new elements to thrive in a changing world.

Simple physics really, something Charity studied in her spare time, something many wizards and witches looked down upon as a Muggle science. She could teach them a thing or two.

Her hand shook only slightly as she rolled the parchment up and tied it to her owl’s leg. Almost as an afterthought, Charity warned the owl not to tarry once the letter was delivered. After that, it was a matter of simply hoping for best and wondering if the _Daily Prophet_ would even publish it or just throw it in the bin.

(She would never find out what happened to the editor who decided to print her column – she would not have that much time.)

They come for her in the middle of the night and Charity has but a moment to wonder about her wards before a hooded figure sweeps forward, his stale breath in her face, her wand snatched out of the air.

“You should not have named us, Burbage,” he growls and Charity quavers a moment before standing straight and facing the masked villain.

“You should not have started this,” she manages to answer before a slap across her face precedes a red flash of _Stupefy!_.

Somehow, Charity never thinks to beg for mercy.

_Finis_


End file.
